


The Trading of Valuable Information

by randomdreamer01



Series: Where's My Love? [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, But they are cos I'm evil, Cassian is a detective, Cunnilingus, Drama, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Jyn is a criminal, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Romance, They shouldn't be sleeping with each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-24 23:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9791447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomdreamer01/pseuds/randomdreamer01
Summary: It is just sex, he tells himself. It is merely a physical thing between two people who arevery, veryattracted to one another. It means nothing. It doesn’t matter that it has been going on for months or that sometimes they tell each other things they will never again say out loud when they are not wrapped together in bed. It doesn’t matter that he thinks about her far too much when she’s not around or that he now has her under his skin in more ways than one.It is just sex. It doesn’thaveto mean anything.After all, detectives aren’t supposed to sleep with their criminal informants, are they?...Detective Cassian Andor and Jyn Erso (criminal, informant, all-around runner) have a working relationship that benefits all parties.(Not really.)





	1. A Window Booth Is More Romantic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guineapiggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineapiggie/gifts), [Moonprincess92](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonprincess92/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set after Jyn and Cassian's first meeting in **[You Go To My Head](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9696218)**. This story was initially meant to be a one-shot but it ballooned into two chapters. So be prepared, guys. 
> 
> Mild sexual content ahead. I apologise in advance for my horribly written smut. (The scenes were better in my head, obviously.) Thank you to the lovely **guineapiggie** and **moonprincess92** for encouraging me to write this. 
> 
> [I also made a playlist for the series which you can listen to by clicking here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6q0-u-EGyHU9e97LkZXq7jsvBams3flT&spfreload=10)
> 
> Reviews are (almost) better than Jyn and Cassian engaging in well-written sexy time ( _yes, I just said that_ ). So please leave one if you can! Cheers!

_What I am saying is_ _your legs must hurt from walking in and out of people’s houses,_ _of people’s lives, of people’s hearts._

_Your feet must be sore._

**Lydia Wang**

 

* * *

_Please pick me up on my long walk back home_

_Give me something to eat, for I'm weak to my bones_

_Hold me tight in your arms, give me glimmers of hope_

 

_Do not love me though_

_Do not love me though_

_Do not love me though_

_._

_._

_._

 

It is like he is meeting with any of his other informants. Almost. 

She gives him information in a way every detective likes - crisp, precise, accurate, with flashes of her own opinions mixed in when it matters. They keep their topics centred around the case that he is working on, the next lead he wants, or the next illegal job she has coming up. He is surprised by how professional they appear sitting across the table from each other - her stiff-necked, him straight-backed, both of them never smiling much or touching at all. 

No one would guess that thirty minutes on from every meeting, they would be pressed against each other, clothes discarded on the floor of her place or his place with their lips roaming, hands touching, teeth clashing, and that they would have nothing between them but skin…

It is just sex, he tells himself. It is merely a physical thing between two people who are _very, very_ attracted to one another. It means nothing. It doesn’t matter that it has been going on for months or that sometimes they tell each other things they will never again say out loud when they are _not_ wrapped together in bed. It doesn’t matter that he thinks about her far too much when she’s not around or that he now has her under his skin in more ways than one. 

It is just sex. It doesn’t _have_ to mean anything.

After all, detectives aren’t supposed to sleep with their criminal informants, are they?

 

* * *

 

They meet every two weeks on Saturday at exactly two in the afternoon at a Chinese restaurant three blocks down from his precinct. The place is always packed and full to bursting with customers and the sounds of plates, glasses, footsteps, ladles against pans, and people talking loudly in Mandarin and Cantonese. 

The owner is a Chinese man in his fifties, all beard, long hair and gruff manner, and his partner is a blind man who just sits in the corner listening to the going-ons with a serene smile on his good-natured face. For the most part, the two men leave them alone. This, along with the busy nature of the establishment, are the reasons why Cassian chose this restaurant in the first place. 

He and Jyn always sit in a booth at the back so they can be far away from the window. They always order a cup of coffee each and a plate of deep fried Chinese dough sticks which the owner had recommended during their very first visit. The meetings always last around thirty to forty minutes, during which he delivers clipped questions and she answers them in-between sips of coffee and bites of food. 

It is nice, he thinks. In a way.

(But it is not enough. Not nearly enough.)

 

* * *

 

In their first meeting, he stops her from getting up and leaving immediately after she has given him the names of the murder suspects he has been searching for. It is a very small and insignificant gesture, with him simply reaching out his hand half-way across the table to rest it down a few inches away from her own.

“Jyn,” he says, with his voice sounding far too eager to his own ears, “how about we make this deal more than just a one time thing?”

She raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Do you think I have a death wish?”

“No one needs to know,” he replies, smoothing his expression into a serious one. “After all, I’m pretty good at my job. They will not know that my leads come from you.”

“How do you expect me to keep making a living if I sold out my clients to the police?”

“I work in homicide, Jyn. I’m not interested in the petty criminals you deal with on a daily basis. I’m interested in the guys who take it too far, like those ones you just told me about.”

“Are you saying that I care about honour among thieves?”

“Obviously you do,” he says, smiling a little. “Otherwise, you would not be here.”

“Maybe I am here because you gave me no choice on the matter,” she replies tersely. For a second, it looks like she is going to return his smile, but she doesn’t. “After all, we just came from your precinct where I was held in an interrogation room for six hours.” 

“Don’t think of it as an interrogation,” he says, waving a hand. “Think of it as an introduction.”

“You threatened to file assault charges against my roommate.”

“Well, he did punch a police officer in the jaw.”

“He did it to protect _me_ ,” she says, her eyes flashing angrily. “Bodhi wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I admit that the threat was a low blow.” And he still hates himself for it, but then that’s neither here nor there. “But if I remember correctly, you also threatened to - what was it? - ‘force-fed this god awful cup of coffee into my bloodstream in the most painful way possible’. Charming.” 

“I try,” she remarks dryly. 

“Well, it got us here, didn’t it?” he says almost wistfully. And he knows that he is holding her gaze for seconds too long when his chest begins to tighten. She looks away first and he has to clear his throat to dissolve the awkwardness. 

“Jyn, at least promise me you’ll think about it.” 

“Okay,” she says, half-turning away from him. “I’ll think about it.” 

“I’ll be here two weeks from now. Same time. Same table”

His words draw a genuine smile from her and it is playful and hardened all at once, and he hears his brain whispering that he is making a stupid mistake - one that might now be too late for him to reverse.

“I wouldn’t wait around if I were you,” she says. 

“I’m a detective,” he replies and he takes a sip of his coffee to avoid getting drawn into her eyes again. “I’m just doing my job.” 

Her smile turns coy, but she doesn’t make a comment. 

They leave the restaurant separately, with her leaving first and him staying behind to pay the bill. 

Two weeks later, when he shows up to the restaurant at two in the afternoon on Saturday, he finds her already sitting there in their booth, a half-smile on her lips and a defiant look in her swirling, green eyes. 

 

* * *

 

The first time it happens, it starts out with him offering to walk her home afterwards. It is for protection, he says, because the names she’s given him are now public knowledge, and she and Bodhi should move soon as a precaution. 

“It is not safe to wander the streets alone,” he tells her. An excuse, really, but he assumes that they are both passed caring at this point. “It is not wise to be out in the open at the moment.” 

“I can take care of myself,” she says with a little lift of her chin. 

“I know you can.” Because even if he were ever to hurt her on purpose, it would never be by underestimating her courage. “I just wanted to make sure.”

They leave the restaurant together for the first time. The Chinese owner - the man with the thick beard and rough tones - simply observes them with an unreadable expression. The blind man, however, offers them a farewell as though he could see them getting up from their seats at the same time. 

( _But that has to be a coincidence, right?_ Cassian tells himself.) 

It is raining when they step out onto the pavement. 

They walk side by side even though she is supposed to be the one leading the way, and their shoulders and elbows keep brushing against each other, and he is painfully aware of every movement she makes no matter how small. He thinks - fleetingly - that he should have brought an umbrella, but it is now too late. By the time they reach her flat, both of them are nearly soaked to the bone. 

She turns to him just as she puts the key into the lock. She looks beautiful and scared in the downpour, but she doesn’t seem to mind that he is standing close enough to count every drop of rain on her lips. 

“Bodhi’s at work. Do you want to come in?” she asks. 

It is fast, clumsy and desperate. They do not even make it to her bedroom. They end up doing it on the dining room table, with her sitting on the surface and him planting himself between her legs. He only has time to tug down the collar of her shirt so that he can plant fevered kisses to her collarbone before she pulls his trousers down. He doesn’t even know when he had managed to rid her off her jeans or if she had done that herself, but before he realises it, they are already pooling around her ankles. It is all hands, teeth and moans from then on, and it takes only a few hurried thrusts to make them both come undone like a couple of teenagers who have never done this before.

He stays inside her for a moment afterwards with his face buried in the crook of her neck and with her hands in his hair. Their chests rise and fall in a panting, sobbing rhythm, and all he hears is the sound of their combined heartbeats - a desperate, clawing, clanging sound that makes his heart ache in all the best and worst ways. 

“I think you should go,” she whispers eventually, her breath hot against his cheek, and he forces himself to nod in agreement. 

(He also pretends not to hear the whimper that escapes from her lips when he pulls out of her or the way her eyes follow him out the door or the way his pulse is still racing when he steps back into the dreary, rainy world outside.) 

 

* * *

 

“Have you found a new place yet?” he asks her four weeks later over their cups of coffee. 

She nods. “Bodhi did. He’s good at things like this.” 

“So are you two…okay?”

He was about to use the word ‘safe’, but he guesses that being ‘safe’ is not the highest thing on her list of priorities. She seems to understand though, and she nods.

“We’re okay,” she says, breaking apart a piece of the Chinese dough stick. “How is the case going?”

“We’re close.” 

Cassian can see Kay rolling his eyes at his answer. Somehow, to his friend, the word ‘close’ does not mean sitting in a car at midnight, surveilling a drug den with only cold coffee and the same Paul Simon CD to keep them company. But, of course, he can’t tell her any of that.

“Are they going to come after us?” she asks. She doesn’t sound afraid, he notes. Simply intrigued. “Will Bodhi and I have to move again?”

“No,” he says forcefully. “I told you, didn’t I? I’m good at my job. I’ll protect you.”

“No one can protect me.” 

Her biting tone makes him smile. But then most things she does make him smile. He knows her a little more by now and he thinks that he has never known a person so hard and unyielding, yet so incredibly full of fire before. It is part of her conundrum, he has decided, one he’s been trying to unriddle to no avail.

“How’s Bodhi?” he asks. 

“He tells me that he’s working two jobs, but I know that he’s working three,” she says, a crease appearing on her forehead. “He wants to go to flight school and become a pilot and this is the only way he can make it happen.”

“You’re worried about him,” Cassian says immediately. 

Jyn has been dunking a dough stick into her coffee and she pauses at his words. 

“How can you possibly know that?” she asks incredulously.

He shrugs. “I’m a detective. I notice these things.” 

To be specific, he notices these things about _her._ But again, he can’t possibly tell her that. (There are too many things that he can’t tell her.)

She drops her gaze and her usual cautious look steals over her expression. But she doesn’t say anything - she simply pops the dough stick into her mouth and takes another sip of coffee.

“Do you have more information on the gang over at fifth?” he asks to diffuse the tension.

She shakes her head. “Things have been quiet lately. I’ve been trying to lie low.” 

“If you have no new information, why are you here then?” he asks, unable to stop himself. 

She frowns at him over her steaming cup. “Why are _you_ here?” 

He is saved from coming up with an acceptable answer when the restaurant’s owner - whose name, Cassian has since found out, is Baze - bangs another plate of dough sticks on their table.

“We didn’t order these,” says Jyn, glaring at the man like he is trying to cheat them. “We’re not paying for them.” 

Cassian chuckles. “Why are you talking like you’re the one who’s paying? I’m the one who always pays for us both.” 

She scowls at him. “I just thought - ”

“No one’s paying for this,” grumbles Baze in his thick accent. He looks even more annoyed than Jyn, if that is even possible. “It’s on the house.”

“You don’t have to look so happy about it,” scoffs Jyn. 

Baze’s lips thin into a straight, angry line. “My partner over there. Chirrut.” He points over to the blind man in the corner who is smiling into the distance and swaying in time to the music that’s playing on the stereo. “This is from him. And he wants me to tell you both that you can move to a booth by the window.”

“Why would we want to do that?” asks Cassian suspiciously. 

“A better view,” says Baze, shrugging. “He says a window booth is more romantic.”

“Romantic?”

To Cassian’s dismay, his own voice comes out abnormally high-pitched. There’s a horrible clanging sound and he looks over to see Jyn diving underneath the table to retrieve her overturned cup of coffee.

“This is not a romantic thing,” says Cassian immediately, glaring at Baze and trying to school his expression back to normal. “It is a business meeting.”

“Whatever it is, I couldn’t care less. I’m just bringing the message. Do you want the window booth or not?”

“No,” says Cassian sharply. 

“Okay. Do you want to order anything else?”

“No.”

“Okay. Suit yourself.” 

Baze shuffles away, muttering something under his breath in Mandarin. Whatever he is saying, Cassian doubts it is anything good.

“You okay?” he asks Jyn awkwardly. 

“Yes, I’m okay,” she says, emerging from under the table. There is a hint of a blush on her cheeks and she doesn’t meet his eye. “So if we have nothing else to talk about, we should go.” 

“Okay,” he says, but neither of them move.

“Where do you live?” she asks casually. Too casually.

“Not far from here.” 

“Okay,” she says. She is still refusing to look at him, but she reaches over to grab her bag. “Good.”

His breath hitches in his throat. “Good.”

 

* * *

 

The first time he takes her to his barely-furnished flat, he takes his time. He peels off her jacket first, letting it drop to the floor, before bringing his mouth down to the mounds of her breasts. She moans at the contact and he slips his hands inside her jeans and pulls them down. 

“Cassian, what are you - ”

“Shh.” 

He reaches behind her and unclasps her bra. Then his fingers trail back down, down, down until they find the waistband of her underwear and she whispers against his mouth: “Bedroom.” 

They tumble together onto his mattress with her almost fully naked beneath him. For a moment, he looks at her against the whiteness of his sheet, her hair tussled and mussed from his hands being in them. He bends down, kisses her more thoroughly, and tastes coffee on his tongue. 

“What are we doing?” she gasps between his kisses, but her hand tugs on his hair, pulling him in closer, and he does not have an answer, but he wishes that he does. 

Sleeping with her should be like sleeping with other women - easy, uncomplicated, without the _weight_ of something in his chest. But with her, everything has become all too much for him now. He stares at her too much, kisses her too much, _feels_ her too much and still, it never feels like it is enough. 

It still doesn’t feel enough now as he hooks down her underwear and traces his lips from her ankle, up her leg, to the inside of her thighs. He sees her eyes clouding over and she tips her head back, biting her lips to keep herself from whining. 

There is a scar there on her hip. Another just below her rib cage. He kisses them both and feels her shudder against his touch. He knows that he can’t - mustn’t - ask her about them yet. But one day, he promises himself. One day he will. 

“Cassian.” She brings a hand down to his chin and lifts his face up to her. “Cassian, you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” he whispers immediately. _Oh god, he wants to._

“You don’t - ”

“Jyn. It’s okay.” He turns his head and kisses her on the wrist. “It’s okay. You can trust me.” 

He hopes that she remembers what she’d told him on the day they met in the interrogation room. _Trust goes both ways,_ she’d said. Well, he chose to trust her and it led them here, and despite everything that might happen in the future (that he _knows_ will probably happen), he thinks that he will never, ever regret his decision. 

She is remembering those words now too; he knows it from the soft, broken way she is looking down at him. And slowly, with her hand on his cheek, she nods, and he lowers his head down to her centre with a grin on his face. When he brings her over the edge with his tongue and his fingers deep inside her, it is his name that she keeps whispering over and over again like a prayer. 

(But it is still not enough. Not nearly enough.)

Much later, she slips out of his bed and begins to dress in the semi-darkness. But he reaches over and catches her by the wrist because he simply _has_ to.

“Cassian - ”

“Stay,” he says. 

“I can’t.”

He is smiling despite himself. “You’re embarrassed.”

“Of course, I’m embarrassed.” She is not looking at him even though he is still tugging at her hand. She bends down to try and retrieve her clothes from the floor. “I never thought I’d let someone see me like…”

“Like what?” he asks, grinning. He did not know that he is still capable of grinning. 

She rolls her eyes. “You _know_ like what. I was…”

“Sitting on my face?”

She throws her jacket at him and it hits him squarely in the chest. “Don’t be crass!”

He is laughing as he swats the jacket away. She is pulling on her jeans now, but he grabs hold of her hand again.

“Jyn, come on. It’s alright.”

“This is all a bad idea,” she says, shaking her head and buttoning up her jeans. “I’m sleeping with a detective, for fuck’s sake.”

“Jyn, just stay.” 

“You can’t just…” The blush that has crept up her cheeks is gone now, and he realises that she is not meeting his eye because she is trying to stop herself from crying. “You can’t just _say_ things like this, Cassian.”

“Hey, Jyn, this doesn’t have to be serious.” He quickly sits up and puts his hands on her arms, turning her around to face him. “This doesn’t have to mean anything. I just enjoy your company, that’s all. That’s why I’m asking you to stay. God knows, we are the last people in the world who are built for ‘serious’.” He glances out the window and a smile comes to his lips at the sight he sees. “And it’s raining outside and neither one of us has an umbrella.”

Her laughter is choked and dry, and she lifts a fist to rub the tears away from her eyes.

“Okay,” she says a little too forcefully. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

But after she has crawled back into his bed and her small body is curled up against his own once more, he can’t help but think that it must be impossible for him to have the happiness without the guilt.

_What are you doing, Cassian?_

_What are you doing?_

 

* * *

_Let me lay in your bed, talk of things you don't know_

_Take the clothes from my back, and make love to me slow_

_And you're free to think of all you feel and let go_

 

_Do not tell me though_

_Do not tell me though_

_Do not tell me though_

_._

_._

_._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little excerpt from the next chapter: 
> 
> _“What kind of girl would you be happy to see me with, Kay?”_
> 
> _“A girl who is not ridiculously short, brunette, a criminal, and carries around enough baggage to fill this entire room.”_
> 
> _“So basically anyone but Jyn Erso.”_
> 
> _“Anyone but Jyn Erso,” says Kay, lifting up his bottle of beer in a mock toast._
> 
> \------
> 
> Woo hoo! Thank you for reading! I was so glad that I could FINALLY incorporate Baze and Chirrut into this series. The deep fried Chinese dough sticks are a big thing in Asia, guys, so I just _had_ to put them in. 
> 
> Thank you to the lyrics from Keaton Henson's "Strawbear" and to the song "You Always Hurt The One You Love" for the inspiration. [These songs are in the playlist that I've created for this series, which you can listen to by clicking here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6q0-u-EGyHU9e97LkZXq7jsvBams3flT&spfreload=10)
> 
> Please let me know what you thought! I would love, LOVE to hear from you. :)


	2. You Only Come In On Saturdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Then what kind of girl would you be happy to see me with, Kay?”
> 
> “A girl who is not ridiculously short, brunette, a criminal, and carries around enough baggage to fill this entire room.”
> 
> “So basically anyone but Jyn Erso.” 
> 
> “Anyone but Jyn Erso,” says Kay, lifting up his bottle of beer in a mock toast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second and final chapter!
> 
> Mild sexual content ahead so be prepared. I apologise in advance for the not-so-well-written love scene, guys. 
> 
> [I also made a playlist for the series which you can listen to while reading by clicking here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6q0-u-EGyHU9e97LkZXq7jsvBams3flT&spfreload=10)
> 
> Reviews are (almost) better than Jyn and Cassian riding off into the sunset. So please leave one (or several) if you can. 
> 
> Happy reading!

_What I am saying is I am sorry._

_What I am saying is I am still home if you want me to be._

**Lydia Wang**

 

* * *

_And when I get tired and eventually leave_

_I'll get back on the road and I'll leave you in peace_

_And I won't even look back as the tears hit your cheek_

 

_Please don't look at me_

_Please don't look at me_

_Do not look at me_

_._

_._

_._

 

“What are you doing, Cassian?”

Kay approaches him with the question four months into whatever he and Jyn have been doing. Honestly, Cassian has expected Kay to say something much earlier. It is a testament to his friend’s loyalty more than anything that the subject hasn’t been brought up before. 

“What do you mean?” asks Cassian, leaning back in his chair and flipping through the paperwork on his desk. “I’m filing a report like I’m supposed to.”

Kay purses his lips and inhales with more force than usual. “Where were you on Saturday?”

“At the library,” says Cassian casually. “Reading.” 

(If reading means talking and drinking coffee with Jyn at the restaurant, rolling in his sheets with her and letting her ride him until his world explodes into white.) 

“Where were you two Saturdays ago?”

“I don’t recall,” replies Cassian immediately. He throws his pencil down on the table and looks up at his friend with feigned concern. “Kay, what is this about?”

“Your skill at being evasive astounds me.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You _know_ what I’m talking about.” Kay leans in closer, his voice dropping an octave to prevent the other detectives from overhearing their discussion. “Saturdays are your days off. Usually, you spend it at a bar that has live music and serves mezcal. Or you spend it at a museum or at a park or at my place. The library? Please.” He scoffs and his eyes pierce at Cassian from behind his glasses. “I have tried not to say anything, but this has gone on long enough. I did tell you to be careful, didn’t I?”

“And I am being careful,” says Cassian, bravely meeting his friend’s eye. He has always been good at burying the guilt and the shame, he reminds himself. “Kay, there is really no need for this.”

“Are you or are you not currently seeing the criminal Jyn Erso?” 

“She is my informant. We exchange valuable information.” 

Kay’s mouth curves into a sardonic smile. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“There is nothing to _call,”_ says Cassian irritably. He sits up straighter in his chair, levelling Kay with the most truthful look that he can muster. “We meet sometimes. Our deal is working out great. For her, for me, for our work. I know where the line should be drawn, Kay. I am not stupid.” 

Something like hurt flashes across Kay’s expression and there is a coldness to his voice when he says: “I do not know which is worse. You lying to me, or you actually believing that whatever is happening or _not_ happening is going to amount to anything.”

“Kay - ” 

Kay lets out a long and weary sigh, and somehow, it is one of the worst sounds that Cassian has ever heard. 

“You don’t want to listen to me. That’s fine. But just be careful, Cassian.” The hurt dissolves into concern, and then into something akin to sadness. “Both of you do not have the luxury to be this naive.” 

 

* * *

 

There are new marks on her body. A stitched-up wound on her shoulder blade and a fresh, thin sliver of a cut just below her belly button. He didn’t notice them when they’re at the restaurant, only after he has taken off her clothes and lay her down on his mattress. 

His fingers pause over the cut on her stomach and it takes everything within him not to press his lips against it. 

“Cassian…” 

“You’ve been hurt.”

He feels her breathing turning steady beneath him. 

“It’s just a cut,” she barely whispers. She runs a hand through his hair, tugging him back up to her. “It’s nothing. It happens all the time.” 

“Jyn, if things are getting caught up - ” 

“Nothing’s getting caught up.” 

He brushes two fingers over her shoulder wound and she can’t help but wince. The gesture is enough to make him swallow down the painful, horrible lump that has been rising in his throat. 

“It’s nothing, Cassian. Nothing.” She cups his face, drawing his lips to hers. “Ignore it.” 

“I’ve never asked you about your scars.”

“And I’ve never asked you about yours. Let’s keep it that way.” 

Her kisses are pleading, desperate, and he knows that she is begging him to understand somehow. He wants to and he does, to a certain extent. He is - in many ways - similar to her and he would rather push people away than see them live with the consequences of his own failings. 

But this is different. This is _Jyn._ Long ago, he has resigned himself to the fact that he will always hurt the people he cares about. _But not her_ , he thinks. _Never her._

Of course he can’t tell her that. He can’t tell her any of it. And the truth of it pains him even more than the wanting her does.

So this time, he does everything slowly. As though by doing it slowly everything would last a little longer. His lips take their time wandering up her skin - from her ankles, across her thighs, to her breasts and then up to her forehead. It doesn’t matter that she is whining and begging underneath him; it only means that her wanting him goes on for longer than they both deserve. When he finally enters her, it is little by little, and the ache is almost as good as the way their gazes are locked together the entire time they move as one. 

They cling to each other afterwards - trembling, vulnerable, _whole._ He would like to think that this must be what peace feels like, but he knows from the way she has tears in her eyes that whatever he thinks it is, it will be shattered soon. 

Because, despite him knowing better, he simply _has_ to ask. 

His fingers trail over the wound on her shoulder as he whispers against the softness of her hair: “Jyn, can you stop?” 

Immediately, her hand ceases its caress of his arm. 

“Stop what?”

“This.” He presses his lips to the wound and then drops his hand to the cut. “And this.” 

“I can’t stop getting injured, Cassian,” she says, forcing a laugh like she already knows what he is asking, but would rather pretend that she doesn’t. “I don’t do it voluntarily.” 

“I don’t mean stop getting injured, Jyn. I mean _stop_ …” His eyes find hers and he holds the gaze. “Stop it altogether.” 

She shakes her head and the tears begin to fall. 

“You can’t just ask me that. You have no right.” 

“Jyn, I thought that - ” 

“It doesn’t matter what you thought!” She scrambles up to get away from his touch and begins grabbing around for her clothes, her face obscured from his sight. “You don’t get to make this about you, Cassian.” 

“How is this about me?” he cries. He reaches out for her but she flinches away from him. “You’re the one with the fresh wounds, the one who’s possibly being hunted down.” _Because of me. Because I was selfish._ “I could help you. Protect you.”

“I _chose_ this, Cassian. Don’t make this about your bloody sense of _nobility._ ” She spits out the word like it is a dirty one. Her jeans and shirt are back on now and she reaches underneath his bed for her boots. “You can’t ask me to change who I am just so you could have a normal girlfriend. A _proper_ one. Someone who wouldn’t mess up your cause of fighting the good fight, or whatever it is you’re calling it these days.” 

He feels the blood rushing to his face and he has to bite his lips to keep his voice from rising.

“So this is what it’s about. You think I’m asking you to stop for my own good?” He sneers at her back. “Contrary to what you believe, this is not who you are and I’ve never been someone who does things for my own good.” 

She finishes lacing up her boots and wheels around to face him. With him still sitting on his bed, she towers over him, her green eyes boring into his with fire and tears. 

“So why, Cassian? Why did you ask that of me?”

_Because I don’t want to lose you. Because we give each other hope._

But somehow, even now when it comes down to it, he can’t say any of those things (and he thinks that she doesn’t really want to hear them anyway). He can only watch as she shakes her head at him desperately, pushes her hair away from her face, and eventually grabs her bag from the floor. 

Everything happens too fast for his liking. The bag is slung over her shoulder, then she is turning away from him with a heavy sigh, and it takes only a few seconds for her to cross the room and be at his door. 

She turns around one last time and her face is sad, angry, afraid - everything that he can possibly feel all crammed into one beautiful and broken expression. 

“You don’t get to save me, Cassian.” 

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, she doesn’t show. 

He sits in their booth with two cups of coffee and one plate of dough sticks and waits. The clock’s hands move from two, to two-thirty and then to three, but she still doesn’t show. Finally, Baze wanders over to his table and puts down the bill. For the first time, Cassian catches a soft and gentle look in the older man’s eyes. 

“Not your day, detective.” 

Cassian does not bother to ask how Baze came to know about his job. He fishes inside his pockets and pulls out a couple of notes and coins. He tosses them on the table and takes one last gulp of his coffee.

“Seems like it’s not, Baze,” he agrees quietly. “Seems like it’s not.” 

And he is thankful when Baze makes no comment and just lets him go. 

He waits for five days before he tries going around to her place. (After all, he is not _that_ desperate.)

He wants to apologise, maybe. Tell her that she’s wrong, that he’s wrong, and that maybe they can simply be _friends._ The idea is laughable, but it’s all he’s got. 

What greets him is an empty and boarded up flat with a ‘For Rent’ sign hanging on the door. 

It is for the better, he keeps telling himself. It has been a stupid idea from the beginning. He should not have fooled himself into thinking that she’d stick around or that he would be enough to keep her around. He should not have let himself get involved with her in the first place. He is glad that she made the move first. She has always been stronger than him and it is right that she is the one who left. 

His life returns to what it was before her. Everything is exactly the same, he reminds himself, but just without her in it. 

(Without her sitting across from him in the crowded restaurant. Without her asleep in his bed. Without her breathing, looking, touching, talking or existing at all.) 

 

* * *

 

“It is for the better,” says Kay, looking at him with a pained and pitying expression. 

It is Saturday afternoon and they are sitting on the sofa in Kay’s flat with bottles of beer and a box of pizza between them. It has taken Cassian two whole months after she’d left to tell his best friend (almost) everything. He is quite sure that Kay has known that something has been amiss for a while now. No matter how good of an actor Cassian is, he is never good enough to fool Kay. It is, again, a testament to Kay’s loyalty that he hasn’t said anything until now. 

“It is for the better,” Kay repeats, taking a swig of beer. “Better that it happens now. When you’re only _just_ falling for her.”

“I wasn’t falling for her - ”

“We should not discuss what you think you felt or what you think you _didn’t_ feel,” says Kay in a clipped, strained voice. “I can’t believe anything that comes out of your mouth when it is about Jyn Erso.”

Cassian chuckles dryly. “Then what kind of girl would you be happy to see me with, Kay?”

“A girl who is _not_ ridiculously short, brunette, a criminal, and carries around enough baggage to fill this entire room.”

“So basically anyone but Jyn Erso.”

“Anyone but Jyn Erso,” says Kay, lifting up his bottle of beer in a mock toast. 

Cassian notes his friend’s rigid profile and his silence makes Kay turn sideways to look at him, confusion written across his features. “What?”

“Kay, I have baggage too, you know.”

“I know,” says Kay, his voice softening. “But you’re my friend. And she’s not.”

Cassian’s lips twitch. “Thank you for that, Kay.” 

“Well, at least Jyn Erso has one thing going for her,” Kay remarks dryly. 

“What’s that?”

“At least she’s British.”

And it is the first time in two months that Cassian feels like he is genuinely smiling. 

 

* * *

 

Despite everything, Cassian keeps returning to the Chinese restaurant on Saturdays. 

He is used to the place now - the noise, the food, the people, the pattern. There is a calming presence to both Baze and the blind man Chirrut even though he knows next to nothing about them. They do not make conversation except for when he orders food or when they give each other a brief nod in greeting and in farewell. He thought about bringing Kay here, but Kay has never been a fan of Chinese food anyway. And even if he was, Cassian doesn’t think he could bring himself to ask. 

The truth is that the place is now irrevocably linked to  _her_ and he isn't ready to give away the only piece he has left of her just yet. The stories and the words - those he can share. But this place…

Maybe one day, some day, but not now.

(He tells himself that it is _not_ because he is still hoping that she would come walking through the door.) 

One afternoon, it is not Baze who brings him coffee, but Chirrut, and Cassian’s eyes widen in surprise. 

“Where’s Baze?” 

“I asked if I could be your waiter today, detective,” says Chirrut with his usual friendly smile. He sets Cassian’s coffee down on the table and gestures to the empty seat where _she_ used to sit. “Do you mind?”

Cassian minds very much, but how can he say no to a blind man? 

“Go right ahead.” 

Chirrut’s hand runs along the edge of the table as he makes his way into the booth. When he is finally seated, Cassian cannot help but ask: “How do you know that I’m a detective?”

“You learn to pick up things when you’re blind,” replies Chirrut, waving a careless hand. It is not a real answer at all, but Cassian feels like it is the only one that he’s going to get. “May I ask you a personal question, detective?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“We always have a choice, detective,” says Chirrut. “You more so than others.”

Cassian doesn’t understand what Chirrut means and he doesn’t think he wants to. So he asks instead: “What do you want to know?”

“How long have you been here, detective?”

Cassian’s throat tightens. Somehow, he knows that _here_ does not mean this restaurant at all. 

“Five years,” he says quietly. “And you?”

“Oh, we’ve been here twenty years now. Life has a habit of going by so fast. I came here wanting to open a martial arts school, but here I am, with a Chinese restaurant.” He chuckles softly and there is another wistful smile on his face. “We can plan as much as we want, but the universe always has its own ideas.” 

“A martial arts school?” Cassian cannot help but match the older man’s smile. “Are you any good?”

“I am not too bad,” replies Chirrut, shrugging. “But here, things are not like they are back home in Hong Kong or in China. Some things are better here and some things are worse.” His smile slips a little. “What about you, detective? Tell me. Do you miss home?”

A pause. Cassian does not remember if someone has ever asked him this question before. All he knows is that the question makes his heart yearn and ache and _remember._ There is a house on a hill. A woman with the warmest smile. Laughter. The taste of flames on his tongue. 

“Some days I do,” he whispers, his voice wavering. “But some days I don’t. It comes and goes. Some days I don’t remember at all.”

“I know the feeling too well, detective,” says Chirrut. There is not only friendliness in the man’s tone, but also immense understanding and kindness. “You will always feel like you belong in two places. Like home is never going to be a place, but a person. In many ways, you will always be torn apart.”

It is getting harder and harder for Cassian to breathe. He stares into Chirrut’s blank, unseeing eyes.

“Chirrut, why are you telling me this?”

“I’m telling you this, detective, because you need to know that being torn apart is not always a bad thing.” 

Cassian frowns. “I don’t understand.” 

But Chirrut only smiles his infuriating, unreadable smile and says: “Thursdays, detective. At eight in the morning. You will understand.”

 

* * *

 

Next Thursday, Cassian makes a detour on his way to work and arrives at the restaurant five minutes before eight. He almost smiles when he sees how busy the place is, even this early in the morning.

“Detective,” says Baze, nodding at Cassian as he walks in through the door and takes his usual seat. “The same?”

“I don’t really know what this is about,” says Cassian, his gaze immediately seeking out Chirrut. The older man is in his usual place at the back of the restaurant. Curiously, he is flipping through a newspaper even though his eyes are fixed on a spot just above it. “Chirrut, should I get a cup of coffee? Will I have time to drink it here?”

Chirrut’s lips curl upwards. “Get two.”

“Two?” 

Baze snorts at seeing Cassian’s confusion. He wipes his hands on his apron and heads for the kitchen. Chirrut, however, folds up his newspaper and turns to face Cassian. 

“You’re right on time, detective,” says Chirrut. 

Before Cassian can say anything else, the bell above the restaurant’s door rings and Chirrut’s smile grows even wider as his head turns towards the sound. Cassian’s gaze follows Chirrut’s and it lands on the figure who has just stepped inside from the cold. 

It is _her._ Jyn. 

His heart swells inside his chest and he gets to his feet before he can stop himself. 

“Baze, where the bloody hell are you? I need a coffee and - ” She spots him and her expression stills immediately. “Oh.” 

They stare at each other from across the room, neither of them daring to move, eyes locked onto each other for what feels like forever. 

The place is too loud for him to hear her, but he can read the single word on her lips. 

“Hi.” 

He smiles and it doesn’t matter that he is late for work, or that Kay will be mad, or that they were both too angry the last time they met. He mouths back: “Hi.” 

She makes her way across the room to him and they end up standing awkwardly by their usual booth. He does not even want to consider looking at Chirrut; somehow, he has a feeling that the older man is probably smirking in satisfaction.

“Your hair is longer,” Cassian tells her uncomfortably. “It looks nice.”

She smiles a little, tugging a strand behind her ear. “I thought you only come in on Saturdays.”

“I thought you didn’t come in at all.”

“I come in on Thursdays so I don’t have to see you,” she says, dropping her eyes. She doesn’t sound mad, just a little sad. “I should find another place. But I’ve grown used to Baze’s cooking, I’m afraid.” 

“Oh. Well. Should I…” He gestures at the door behind her. “Should I leave?”

“No,” she says immediately, looking up into his face again. “Don’t.”

“Alright.” He runs a hand through his hair awkwardly. “Well…how have you been, Jyn?”

“I’ve been…good.” She tugs at another strand of hair, her eyes darting around like they do every time she tries to tell him something personal. “I have a job now, actually. This bookstore downtown. I don’t know how long it will last, but I’ve been enjoying it so far.”

His heart squeezes painfully at her words. He shoves a hand into his pocket.

“I didn’t ask you to do that, Jyn.”

“But you did,” she says quickly with a shrug of her shoulders, and the gesture reminds him of how much he has missed her painful honesty. “But I didn’t do it for you. I did it because I wanted to. I did it because I couldn’t put Bodhi through all the _shit_ anymore. I did it because you were right.” 

He frowns. “I was right?”

“It wasn’t who I am. And you knew that.” 

He draws in a short, sharp breath. “Jyn, listen. I’m..”

“Yeah,” she says, and her smile is a little bit half-hearted, her voice a little bit broken. “Yeah. Me too.” 

It is not _nearly_ enough, he knows. But for them, it is acceptable for now. 

He feels himself smiling back at her. “Coffee?” he asks.

“I don’t want you to be late for work and risk Kay’s wrath,” she replies with the playful glint in her eyes that never fails to brighten up his mood. “How about Saturday? And you can take me somewhere nice afterwards.”

“I always take you somewhere nice.”

“Your flat is not nice.” 

His smile turns into a grin. “Fair enough. A park then. We can walk around. Pretend to be normal. Talk about how _not_ serious this whole thing is.”

“Yes, let’s do that,” she says, her grin now mirroring his. “I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

And it is like the day they met all over again - when they moved closer to each other in the precinct, their bodies circling each other and their eyes drinking in every little detail. He swears his heart is beating too loud, that the heat is rising in his face. But he doesn’t care at all. The entire world - the restaurant, the noisy patrons, even Baze and Chirrut - falls away when she looks at him like that, and he realises (after months and months of trying to forget her) that he will never get tired of just _seeing_ her.

Maybe Chirrut is right, he thinks.

For him, home might never be a place. But maybe - just maybe - it can be a person.

 

* * *

_I see my light come shining_

_From the west down to the east_

_Any day now, any day now_

_I shall be released_

_._

_._

_._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! That's it for this story, guys. Probably two or three more left in this series as we're nearing the end. Thank you to the lyrics from Keaton Henson's "Strawbear" and Bob Dylan's "I Shall Be Released". [All the songs that inspired this chapter and this series can be listened to in this playlist right here.](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL6q0-u-EGyHU9e97LkZXq7jsvBams3flT&spfreload=10)
> 
> I am sorry for not giving a reason for Chirrut's almost supernatural insight. Because, unfortunately, I don't have one. Fight me. (Or send me better ideas.) 
> 
> Thank you SO much for reading. As always, please let me know what your thought. Reviews mean more to me than you know.


End file.
